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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621611">A Siren's Call</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitoinsomniac/pseuds/incognitoinsomniac'>incognitoinsomniac</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Endeavour (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Denial of Feelings, Endeavour Morse Whump, Falling In Love, Human Disaster Endeavour Morse, Hurt Endeavour Morse, M/M, POV Peter Jakes, Pining, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:29:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitoinsomniac/pseuds/incognitoinsomniac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thursday told Jakes they had caught a new case. What Jakes catches when they go to pick up Morse is something else entirely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Spellbound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For reference, this picks up shortly after Morse's return to Cowley at the beginning of Season 2</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Here we are," DI Thursday said as he brought their police issued Jaguar Mk.1. to a halt along a gravel path. He exited the driver side without another word.</p><p>DS Jakes scrambled out after him and looked up at the intricate towering architecture of some gothic church. "What's here?"</p><p>"Morse."</p><p>"Here?" he asked a bit astonished before following Thursday down the gravel pathway. He never took Morse for the religious sort.</p><p>"You'll see. In we go." Thursday motioned for Jakes to speed it up as he held open the large wooden entrance door.</p><p>Jakes hadn't been in a church except for the odd case since school. He didn't like churches. Never had. But there was something different about this one. With the morning sun trickling in through stained glass and the harmonizing notes of the choir resonating throughout the halls, it felt as close to heaven as Jakes had ever been. Or at least what he supposed it was from all the rhetoric spouted at him as a child.  </p><p>Jakes stood there watching the choir in awe. Watching Morse more specifically. He had an ethereal aura about him. And the music that surrounded him, came from him, set Jakes heart aflutter. He couldn't look away. Couldn't stop watching how the glow of the church lighting softened his features. Or how his lips and tongue curled around each note. How he took in a breath between the notes. How his nimble fingers turned the pages of his songbook.</p><p>"You all right?"</p><p>Thursday’s voice shook him out of his stupor. Jakes spun toward his superior doing his best to compose himself having completely forgotten the detective inspector was beside him. He shrugged off the question with a quick grunt, "Don't much like churches. Just need a cig. Be out by the car."</p><p>Thursday nodded. Jakes turned on his heel and practically ran to the exit. He couldn’t get out fast enough.</p><p>Once at the car, it was all he could do to light a cigarette hands shaking from nerves he couldn’t explain. His mind was still stuck in there watching Morse half in awe and half in terrifying confusion.  He couldn’t shake that image of Morse out of his head or clear the tightness in his throat. Even the familiar warmth of cigarette smoke wasn’t calming his jitters. The whole thing made him a bit queasy.</p><p>Pacing by the car, he focused on the cool morning breeze encircling him, the crunch of rounded stone gravel under his shoes, and the warm smoke filling his lungs. After a few moments, he felt better. It had just been the church. Churches did weird things to the brain. He hated churches.</p><p>He hung out by the car for what felt like eons watching the clouds float past in the sky and birds flit across the church lawn. It was peaceful in its own way. But every so often his gaze would fall upon the front door or the stained glass. And the scene from inside would all start rushing back followed by feelings he didn't much care to think about let alone feel. He'd kick a stone or take a long drag to shove it all back down trying to focus on any other thoughts. Thoughts that didn't include Detective Constable Morse. The problem with trying not to think about something invariably made one think about it more which Jakes found increasingly frustrating.</p><p>The creak of the old church door made him look up from cleaning the dirt from under a well-manicured fingernail. As he saw Morse walk down the front path toward the car, the flutters started up all over again. He felt it coming on and was able to keep a cool exterior even if his insides felt like warmed over pudding. It helped that Morse no longer appeared as the angelic being Jakes had seen from the pews. The lack of singing, the unfiltered morning sun, a gust of wind shifting his ridiculous unkempt hair, hands shoved in his pants pockets from the cold as he idly chatted with Thursday, all made him look a lot more like himself. But Jakes still felt a persisting twist in his chest.</p><p>He pinched himself for acting like an idiot. Then he stamped out his cigarette next to his three others on the ground by the rear passenger tire and clambered into the back  hoping desperately the day would end quickly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Knockout Punch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jakes can't end this day fast enough. Morse can't keep his mouth shut</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you all enjoy Chapter 2! ^_^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It did not. It wound around at a sickeningly slow pace with them chasing leads all over town until Jakes found himself frowning into the palm of his hand trying not to watch a train wreck of an interrogation in the back alley of a pub. Morse had taken it upon himself to question a one less than sober Richard B Cypert, known associate of the victim who had been seen arguing with him yesterday afternoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was true that Mr. Cypert was an ass and dodging the questions, in no way able to comprehend how an irate bastard like himself could ever be considered a suspect for murder. But Morse was also making a right ass of himself in his usual haughty Oxford way. Cypert was picking up on every sarcastic lilt Morse was throwing at him. Each verbal jab made Jakes wish he was anywhere other than a dingy alley staring at the back of Morse’s neck wanting nothing more than to shut up his smart mouth with a strong kiss while running his hands through those unruly curls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned internally. That would not be a constructive addition to this line of inquiry. Or the case. Or his career. And most likely it would make his life altogether too complex for his liking. He needed another cigarette. He needed to end this day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he finished lighting a fresh fag, Morse made a clever rebuttal that Jakes couldn’t help but chuckle over. He returned his lighter to his pocket then looked up to see Morse careening toward him from a solid fist to the face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi!” escaped Jakes’ lips as he tried his best to push Morse upright. Then he rushed past him toward Cypert and socked the man cleanly upside the jaw. Solid contact sent his adversary stumbling sideways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Jakes turned to check on Morse, Cypert’s hand gripped him and spun him back toward him. Jakes ducked a high right cross. He used the opening to jab at the drunken man’s gut. Then landed another in quick succession. With Cypert dazed from the onslaught, Jakes swung a final uppercut square to his jaw then Cypert slumped to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s aggravated assault of an officer, you fucking berk!” Jakes huffed then brushed a few errant hairs back into place. He turned to Morse who was just getting up from the ground cupping a hand over his left eye. “You all right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Morse mumbled sounding a bit defeated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna grab us a pair of cuffs from the cab?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.” Morse shuffled off toward the car looking a mixture of irritated and dejected that only he could pull off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jakes turned back to the moaning lump on the ground. Infuriating tosser. Watching Cypert closely, he started straightening his suit. There were a couple small red splotches on his right cuff. He clicked his tongue and mumbled under his breath, “Got blood on my new shirt. Prick.” Nothing a little ice water couldn’t get out but still. Then he remembered his freshly lit cigarette. He searched the ground and found it still smoldering in the corner of the alley. A quick stamp of his shoe and it was out. Such a waste. He lit another in its place. This day needed to end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They made it back to the nick in short order. After shuffling Cypert into booking then a poorly lit cell, Jakes made his way to the lockers for a change of shirt and to set his soiled one to soak in some ice water. He also made up a couple ice bags then headed back to his desk. As he entered the room, he saw Morse leaning into a file looking miserable as ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here.” He shoved one of the bags into his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morse shifted and looked up at him with a blank expression. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he hesitantly took the bag. He watched Jakes cross the room with a look of confusion. “You feeling okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jakes plopped into his seat and swung his legs up onto the desk. “Not the one with the black eye.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you being nice to me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jakes shook his head. “Am not. Just your imagination,” he said as he placed the other bag over his bruising knuckles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you're acting different,” Morse persisted, unconvinced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With his bruised hand, Jakes pointed at the abandoned ice bag on Morse’s desk. “Shut up and put that on your face. Gonna swell your eye shut if you're not careful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morse grumbled but complied. And that was the end of that conversation. But a frown stayed permanently affixed to Jakes’ face the rest of the day. Every time he looked over at Morse his mind drifted back to the morning and the choir’s songs filled his ears. He couldn’t focus on his paperwork one bit. Cursing under his breath didn’t seem to help much either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day did eventually come to an end. Jakes headed home with the hope that this would all go away after a good night’s sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Pulled In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jakes has tried to not think about Morse. A sprawling estate with a murderer on the loose leaves his thoughts and anxieties to run rampant.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's almost midnight. I've made last minute edits. No one has reviewed this for me. I no longer care. Chapter 3 must see the light of day! I hope you all enjoy. ^_^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It did not. Jakes found himself with a bad case of the butterflies any time he needed to interact with Morse. And seeing how they were both working under DI Thursday and their desks were a few feet apart, this was quite often. Somehow, he held himself together enough to finish the case without too much fuss. He considered taking sick leave after that, but he wasn’t at all sure it would help. A week later he ended up driving the lot of them out to a posh house in the countryside to assist County in an active home invasion call.</p><p>They found the caller dead in the front hall. Her body lay only a few feet from the phone with the receiver still off the hook. Poor bird. They set to searching the rest of the house and surrounding grounds. It was a lot of area to cover and they all had that thought in the back of their minds that it would end up fruitless. The killer was likely already gone. But additionally, Jakes had the recurring thought of how well the pale blue shirt Morse was wearing brought out his blue eyes. It was not at all constructive as far as thoughts go. But Jakes kept coming back to it none the less. It also meant he took a bit longer to search the upstairs than usual.</p><p>The house was empty aside from the woman’s corpse when Jakes came back down from his search. He stepped out to the back courtyard to find DI Thursday and Constable Strange chatting quietly about the case with Dr. Debryn. Morse was not with them. This unsettled Jakes probably more than it should. He approached the group and asked after his whereabouts.</p><p>Thursday turned to him with a slight look of confusion. “What?”</p><p>“He was just here. Searching the back rooms and the courtyard. Where is he?”</p><p>Strange shrugged, “Said he was going to check something over by the boat docks a few minutes ago.”</p><p>“And you didn't go with him?” Jakes voice was edged with more vinegar than he intended. But he felt the bitter taste of anxiety clawing at his throat.</p><p>Strange shrugged again, “Said he didn't need help. Besides, searched it m’self before and didn’t find anything.”</p><p>“Morse can fend for himself. Doesn't need a sitter, does he?” Thursday chimed in.</p><p>Jakes shook his head before setting off at a jog toward the boat house. Some people did need a sitter. Some people had an unreasonable knack for finding trouble.</p><p>“Jakes?” Thursday shouted after him.</p><p>He couldn’t just let it be. He had to be sure Morse was all right. And something in the back of his mind kept telling him he wasn’t.</p><p> </p><p>The boat house was empty. The docks were empty. There was one boat docked and that too was empty. He was starting to get frantic when he heard Constable Strange jog up behind him. Jakes tried his best to level his voice as he turned to him, “Can’t find him.”</p><p>Strange pointed to one of the docks, “Was a boat there before. Maybe Morse took it.”</p><p>“Why? Why would he take a boat?”</p><p>He shrugged, “Dunno.”</p><p>Jakes gave him a deriding look. He was getting tired of his shrugging and guessing and general lack of concern. Morse came here and now he was gone. And no one else seemed at all bothered by this. He was not crazy for being concerned. His personal feelings - whatever they actually were way deep down that he had tried his best not to think about over the past couple weeks - were not making him more concerned than he should be. Or so he told himself.</p><p>He took a breath to calm his nerves. He had to figure out where Morse went. “Boat’s gone. Strange, is anything else different?”</p><p>“Um.” Strange took a moment to look over the dock. “Tarp’s been moved.” He pointed at a large tarp that was cast next to a pile of crates. “Oh, and this was a nicely coiled anchor.” A sloppy coil of rope lay at his feet. He shrugged again. “Guess Morse knocked it over the side.”</p><p>Jakes looked at the rope as it disappeared into the water. Neither of those things meant much. He could have moved the tarp looking for clues. And the anchor could have dislodged while launching the boat. But why would Morse take the boat without telling anyone? On second thought, not telling anyone was exactly like him. But why take it to begin with?</p><p>He scanned the water trying to think. His eyes caught some bubbles breaking the surface. “Shit,” he said softly as a thought started to form.</p><p>“What?” asked Strange with a curious look.</p><p>“Shit!” Jakes exclaimed. He didn’t have time to explain, to think. He started pulling his shoes off.</p><p>“Jakes? What you doing?”</p><p>“He’s down there!” he urged motioning toward the water as he hastily cast off his jacket and tie before diving in.</p><p>It was murky and hard to see with little flecks catching and distorting the light from above. But a few feet down there was Morse, eyes closed, small bubbles escaping his mouth as he floated suspended by something deeper down. Jakes swam lower to find the anchor rope wrapped around his foot. After a moment struggling to loosen the coil, Jakes pulled his foot free. He grabbed Morse up under his arms then kicked them both toward the surface.</p><p>Strange was there to help pull them both back onto the dock. “Oh shit. Is he dead?” he asked as Jakes lay there, sopping wet, panting heavily, and praying it wasn’t true.</p><p>Jakes shot a concerned glance toward Morse’s lithe form motionless on the dock before scrambling to his hands and knees. Gently, he lay him flat. He leaned in close listening for any breathing and ran a shaky hand along his neck to check for a pulse. He didn’t hear anything other than the hammering of his own heartbeat. Didn’t feel anything other than the uncontrollable tremor of his hand. He shouldn’t be the one doing this. “Go get Debryn,” he ordered Strange. Someone better should be doing this.</p><p>“Doc works on dead people, is he-?”</p><p>“Just go! Now!” he urged, anxiety clipping his voice with a high-pitched lilt.</p><p>That got Strange running back toward the house. Jakes needed to do something. He had no idea how long Morse had been down there. He needed to get him breathing again. Compressions on the chest. That was it.</p><p>Jakes tilted Morse’s head back. His fingers ran delicately along his cold damp jaw. Push a breath in. He tried not to dwell on the fact that his lips were on his and how cold and soft they were. There wasn’t time for it. But there would be when night came, and this was replaying relentlessly through his mind as he lay awake in bed. Compressions. Breath. Repeat. Compressions. Breath. Prayer and pleading with a god he didn’t believe in, but that’s what one did in situations like this. Repeat. Compressions. Breath. Swallowing the growing fear of losing Morse. Repeat. Compressions. Resigning himself to this monotonous macabre dance until someone could pull him forcefully from Morse’s bruised corpse.</p><p>And as he leaned in to give him another breath, Morse jerked to life. His brilliant blue eyes snapped open to lock with Jakes’. Not a moment later he rolled over on his side to cough up water onto the dock planks.</p><p>Jakes sat back on his bare heels. Morse was breathing.  Because of him. He was safe. With a cough-like grunt, Jakes tried to wipe off the idiot grin spread across his face.</p><p>Morse rolled back flat on the deck. He looked up at Jakes with questioning blue eyes under unruly curls plastered to his forehead. “Jakes?” He tried to sit up and his hand slipped on the slick dock crashing him back down against the wood planks.</p><p>Jakes instinctively reached his hands out to pull him close then stopped short. He kept his hand out in a calming gesture as he leaned over Morse. “Hey, hey. Just rest there for a bit.”</p><p>Morse reached his hand out and Jakes grabbed it up to reassure him. But Morse pulled it away from him and  motioned toward the boat house. “He was hiding behind the-”</p><p>“Morse.”</p><p>“-crates under the tarp, waiting-”</p><p>“Morse.”</p><p>“- for me then shoved-”</p><p>“Stop!” None of it was important. It could all wait. Morse needed to rest. He needed a look over from Debryn at least. Hospital would be better. He had nearly drowned, and he was acting like he’d merely dozed off.  “Are you hurt?”</p><p>Morse winced before responding, “Scrapped up a bit on my back. Chest feels like I’ve had an elephant sitting on it. Fine otherwise.” He tried to prop himself up again, but Jakes shoved him down with little effort. Morse glared back at him and protested, “That woman’s murderer is getting away in a motor-boat. We need to pursue.”</p><p>“You just half drowned. You need to go to hospital.” Jakes chided.</p><p>“Jakes-”</p><p>“Just shut up and take a breath,” he added firmly. He could feel tension building in the base of his neck at the thought of Morse chasing down a suspect only to find himself in a worse state than nearly drowning.</p><p>“He’s getting away!” Morse insisted.</p><p>“Let him!” The shout was louder than he intended. He regretted it almost immediately. And then more so when he saw the chilling look Morse gave him. It froze him in place plummeting his heart into the depths of his stomach.</p><p>“How can you say that?” Morse asked with an air of contempt, “Let a murderer get away? How,” his sentence was cut short by a fit of coughs.</p><p>There was movement above them. Jakes looked up to see Strange, Thursday, and Debryn cresting the hill toward the boathouse. He stood and shook off some water. It was of little use. He was soaked through. Slicking his hair back out of his face, he grumbled “Christ. Fine.”</p><p>Without giving Morse a second glance, Jakes grabbed up his things and headed toward the boat on the other side of the dock. “Strange, you’re with me!”</p><p> </p><p>They searched the river ways for an hour before they found the boat stashed in an inlet obscured by reeds. A slightly worn deer path lead to a road where they found fresh tire tracks heading toward town. With not much else to go on they headed back to the nick.</p><p>During his lunch break, Jakes found himself scowling against the wall outside Morse’s hospital room. He was unable to go in paralyzed in place. Going in wasn’t an option. Morse would know he was checking up and then there would be questions. And if there weren’t questions, there would probably be that immobilizing look of disdain he’d got earlier only doubled after Morse learned he and Strange had been unsuccessful in their search. He’d somehow managed to come out of this with less respect than a year of merciless teasing had gotten him.</p><p>And it wouldn’t matter that the boat engine had been stone cold when they’d arrived or that he couldn’t have both rescued Morse and caught up with the murderer in time. And it definitely wouldn’t matter that Jakes had pulled Morse from the murky deep with his own hands and saved his life. If he hadn’t pushed to go after him to the dock. If he hadn’t been so concerned. The if’s kept stacking and turning his stomach sour.</p><p>If he didn’t have certain thoughts about a certain danger-prone detective, things would have gone a lot differently today. that one there was what truly kept him stuck to the wall outside Morse's door unable to go in and unable to leave well enough alone. And those certain thoughts swirled around his head now.  Visions danced in front of his eyes of a soggy Morse in a drenched pale blue button-up that accented his scornful blue eyes which burrowed into his heart like knives. If he could sink further into the hospital wall, he would. If he could close his eyes and not see Morse he would. How how he wish he could. </p><p>“He’s going to be all right.” A melodic voice pulled Jakes out of his dower contemplation. </p><p>He looked up to see a nurse standing in front of him with a sympathetic smile. “Oh I-” was all he could manage at first. She was strikingly beautiful with a kind reassuring face. “Thank you. Nurse?”</p><p>“Hicks. Monica Hicks.” She reached her hand out.</p><p>He took her hand. She had a sure grip. “DS Peter Jakes,” he said with a firm shake.</p><p>“Your friend will pull through just fine,” she said nodding back toward Morse’s room.</p><p>“We’re not friends,” Jakes muttered crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “Coworkers more like.”</p><p>“Oh well,” she recovered quickly. “He’ll be back at it after a bit of rest. Not to worry.”</p><p>He shrugged, “I’m not worried.”</p><p>“Of course not,” she grinned, “because there’s nothing to worry ‘bout.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he mumbled. Something about this whole exchange raised the hairs on his neck. She was obviously no fool, and he was starting to feel more and more like a book. “Thanks again, Nurse Hicks.” He sluggishly got up from the wall. He didn’t like the knowing smile Nurse Hicks gave him. And besides, his lunch hour was nearly up. He slinked off back to work. Hoping for the day to end swiftly not even remotely for the first time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Take a Bite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jakes finds himself worrying anytime Morse leaves the office on a lead. And Morse may well prove that worry is not misplaced.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It did. However, each day that Jakes had wished would end would then curiously enough be followed by another with no change in his state. If anything it had gotten worse. Rarely a night went by when he was not visited by those striking blue eyes in his dreams or those soft lips or unruly curls or that thin frame draped in ill-fitting clothes. And every morning he’d wake up, his dreams foggily settling in his brain as he sipped at coffee and munch on toast and eggs while watching the street wake up through his flat window.</p>
<p>It wasn’t terrible, dreaming about Morse. Only the morning when he had to apply reason to it all and think about the whys and wherefores and hows. It made his head hurt. It made his heart hurt. He always resigned himself to just accepting it and moving on with his breakfast. It made getting ready in the morning much easier. </p>
<p>And as the weeks dragged on, he came to expect this morning ritual. Their unsolved B&amp;E turned murder had come to a screeching halt. Without much else to do, Jakes had found that the best way to keep his mind off of Morse was to bury himself in case work. He’d even pulled some old unsolved files from the archives. His case closures had skyrocketed over the last month. When Bright asked after his uncharacteristic initiative, Jakes simply shrugged and attributed it to nothing more than a lucky streak.  </p>
<p>Morse had decided to throw himself into every minor lead that came through that even remotely circle back to the B&amp;E. Jakes didn’t mind since it kept Morse out of the office for hours at a time. But when the hours drew on and he failed to return from his latest lead, Jakes found himself not wanting to go home. And the subsequent nights were full of waking dreams of unimaginable horrors befalling a certain detective constable.</p>
<p>Last night had been such a night. He managed to drag himself into the office on time around seven without his morning toast and eggs. Equipped with a second steaming mug of coffee and a freshly lit cigarette Jakes tucked into another old file, making notes of his own in a neatly-kept journal.</p>
<p>At quarter to nine, he inquired with Thursday on Morse’s whereabouts the previous day. His concern was met with a stern scowl. “Never you mind. I know you’ve had issue with Morse being my bagman since day one. But he’s proven himself time and again. He’s a capable detective and you need to let him be. He has his process and you have yours. Best you get back to it.”</p>
<p>Jakes grumbled a weak “yes sir” then shuffled back to his desk but not before grabbing another cup of coffee and lighting another cig. He tried to settle back into his latest cold case but the combination of sleep deprivation, anxiety, and large amounts of caffeine and nicotine rattling through his veins left him unable to focus on the words swirling around on the page in front of him.</p>
<p>Movement at the doorway drew his attention away from his work at half past nine. Morse had finally crawled into the office. Jakes mumbled a half-hearted, “Wotcha,” that got no response. Then he noticed Morse was slinking around abnormally. Was he hiding something? Limping? It was hard for Jakes to tell. He was acting strange whatever it was. A flash of white caught Jakes eye as Morse put his coat on a rack by his desk. “What's that?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Morse grumbled as he shoved his hands in his pockets.</p>
<p>He could have sworn he’d seen bandages around Morse’ left hand. “It ain't nothin’. Your whole hand's covered in bandage. What'd you do?”</p>
<p>Morse threw his arms out in defeat revealing that his left hand was in fact wrapped in fresh white bandages. “Why do you assume it's something I did?”</p>
<p>Jakes leaned back in his chair a bit pleased with himself. “It's always something you did. And it’s your hand. Now out with it.”</p>
<p>Morse shrugged, “Got bit by a dog,” then nonchalantly sat down at his desk.  </p>
<p>Jakes groaned internally and was less than successful at hiding an eyeroll. Of course he did. “How'd you manage that?”</p>
<p>Morse considered his answer for a moment with a sideways quizzical glance toward Jakes before sighing, “I went back to the boat yard. Trying to find more information on that abandoned boat from the B&amp;E murder case.” His uninjured hand reach up and scratched back of his neck a bit sheepishly before he continued, “Didn't know the shipwright had dogs.”</p>
<p>Jakes brow furrowed. “Dogs as in plural?”</p>
<p>Morse sat there timidly under the penetrating stare of DS Jakes until finally he fessed up, “Got another bite on my calf.”</p>
<p>This time Jakes groaned outright before asking, “And you've been to hospital, right?” That would explain why he was so late at least.</p>
<p>Morse was quiet. He refused to make eye contact and started aimlessly shuffling papers on his desk.</p>
<p>Jakes stood from his chair. “Up with ya. Come on,” he ordered motioning for the door. Then he grabbed his own coat off the rack and quickly threw it on.</p>
<p>Morse stayed sat at his desk and argued meekly, “They're not that bad. Really.”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “Regardless, let’s get it looked at.” When Morse failed to make any movement again, Jakes insisted, “Dog bites can get infected, Morse. You can’t just wash up and hope for the best. You need real medicine. Let's go.”</p>
<p>Jakes tried to grab up his elbow as encouragement, but Morse shook him off and scooted his rolling chair away from him. “Jakes!” he snapped, “I don’t need looking after like some child. I’m fine!”</p>
<p>Jakes barred his teeth, “I’m not your mum. I’m your senior. And you’re not falling out at work because ya caught rabies or the like. Now get in the car.” He flung a pointed finger toward the door, but Morse sat firmly in his seat. “That’s an order!”</p>
<p>Morse sat for another obstinate moment before getting up out of his chair. He begrudgingly grabbed his coat and shuffled out the door with Jakes trailing closely behind him.</p>
<p>As they headed to the car, Jakes hoped, not for the first time, that he could stop worrying over Morse. He couldn’t keep going like this. Morse couldn’t keep going like this. Morse needed to stop getting himself into troubling situations that could lead to major injury or untimely death.</p>
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